


knowing my fate is to be with you

by Kalokairiroses310



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, First Kiss, Getting Together, Jealousy, M/M, Pining Shirabu Kenjirou, Salty Shirabu Kenjirou, Shiratorizawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-04
Updated: 2020-08-04
Packaged: 2021-03-06 02:15:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25715674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kalokairiroses310/pseuds/Kalokairiroses310
Summary: He slammed his hands on the lunch table, causing several students nearby to glare. Shirabu ignored them. “Taichi,” he whispered. He would rather die than let anyone hear him. “You need to ask Semi where his date is tonight.”It was Taichi’s turn to look dumbfounded. “What?”“I’m asking a girl out for dinner.”“And you want to bring her to the same restaurant?” Taichi shook his head, like Shirabu was insane. “Do you even know what to do on a date?”“Neither do you,” he retorted.Taichi snorted and leaned back in his chair, finishing off the last of his bento. “Ask him yourself,” was all he said.--Or, Shirabu has a bad habit of trying to ruin Semi's dates, and Semi can't take a hint.
Relationships: Semi Eita/Shirabu Kenjirou
Comments: 31
Kudos: 316





	knowing my fate is to be with you

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based off the song "Waterloo" by ABBA. Listen to it while reading for the full effect!

It wasn’t often that the volleyball team had rest days, so when Tendou declared they were all going to the lake, Shirabu knew he could not wiggle his way out of this one. That was how he found himself curled up under Shiratorizawa’s large oak tree, balancing his physics textbook on his knee, attempting to finish the set of practice problems he had for homework. He was well aware that he looked antisocial, but between Goshiki sprinting out of the water every few minutes to ask if he  _ finally  _ wanted to come in and Tendou splashing the first years like a child, Shirabu preferred his peace. He had no qualms about observing from afar.

The weather wasn’t terrible. Overhead, the sky stretched out for a million miles in every direction, cloudless and blue. Perhaps that was why he didn’t feel as bothered as usual when Semi stumbled from the lake to the tree Shirabu had settled under, sprawling on the grass right beside him. In the afternoon sun, the natural color of his hair almost looked white.

“Semi-san,” he managed through gritted teeth.

“Are you doing homework?” Semi sat up to peer at his work. They were close enough together that Shirabu could smell the sun and lake on his skin. “You should take breaks, you know.”

“I don’t want to go in the water.”

“What, can’t swim?”

Semi was looking at him with that casual smirk of his, which bothered him to no end. One corner of his lips always managed to lift an inch or two higher than the other. Shirabu was a stickler for perfection, so of all things, it was Semi’s smirk that infuriated him more than anything else. Perhaps it was also because he didn’t smirk at anyone else like that, and Shirabu knew it was solely to piss him off.

“Of course I can swim,” he retorted. “I just don’t want to.”

To his surprise, his statement was met with only an absent hum. Shirabu expected a witty comeback—maybe even another lecture on the importance of giving his mind a rest—but instead, all he got was Semi reaching for his phone to check the time and springing to his feet.

“I have to get back to the dorms.” He was already pulling his t-shirt over his head, voice lost somewhere in the cotton. Then, as if he had just remembered: “Don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

Shirabu wasn’t particularly intrusive in people’s personal affairs, but Semi always had to be the exception. “What’s the hurry?” he asked, watching as the older boy ran a hand through his dripping hair, sending droplets flying everywhere. Several landed on his paper, smudging the careful ink, and Shirabu scowled.

Semi stopped long enough to smile at him. Shirabu barely had enough time to think about how he was  _ never  _ the recipient of Semi’s genuine smiles when the bastard opened his mouth and said, “I have a study date at the library soon. You might know her—she’s in your year, actually.”

Oh. Well, then.

“I don’t think I know anyone who would go out with you,” Shirabu muttered, before he could stop himself.

Semi’s smile was back. “You must not know a lot of people.” With that, he picked up his bag and called goodbye over his shoulder, already typing something on his phone. Shirabu glowered and turned back to finish his homework—only to let his head snap up again, watching Semi get smaller and smaller as he ambled towards the dorms. A burning inside his chest fizzled as the older boy got farther and farther away, a feeling that resembled irritation. It wasn’t strange in the sense that it was unfamiliar, because Semi always managed to irk him with his talk of how he should be setting and why a proper breakfast was essential. It was strange because even though Semi always irritated him, they were all for reasons that had to do with volleyball, in one way or another. This time, it was completely unrelated.

Shirabu glared down at his textbook. He only had three more problems to go.

“Senpai!”

He looked up again, startled. Goshiki was wading out of the water again, black bangs plastered to his head like a mop turned inside out, a bright smile on his face.

He came to a stop in front of Shirabu, getting his paper wet for a second time. Shirabu sighed. “Senpai,” Goshiki repeated, breathless, “would you like to come in the water now? Tendou-senpai says that everyone should—”

Shirabu surprised himself by slamming his textbook shut. Goshiki jumped about a mile.

“I have to leave now. Sorry.” He was lying through his teeth.

Goshiki squinted. “Where are you going?”

He didn’t bother answering as he grabbed his bag and hurried down the path the way Semi had left. It was a further walk to the dorms than he had realized, and his senpai was no longer in sight. Shirabu did not stop to think about what he was doing until he was standing outside of Semi and Reon’s dorm, knocking on the door, trying to mask his labored breathing. It was embarrassing that he was so out of breath, especially because of the rigorous conditioning the team had gone through last week.

On the other side, Shirabu could only hear rattling, and then Semi’s exasperated, “Just a second!” When the door finally swung open and Semi was blinking down at him, stunned, he opened his mouth, and the only thing that came out was: “That was seventeen seconds, you know.”

Shirabu watched the downward curve of the older setter’s mouth with satisfaction, the way Semi grimaced and stepped aside to let him in, as if Shirabu was the  _ last  _ person he wanted to see. Semi’s dorm was a hot mess, papers scattering his desk and textbooks stacked all over his bed. He had already freshened up and changed into his uniform in the time it took Shirabu to rush here, although his tie had been put on hastily, and this bothered him more than his fucking crooked smirk. There were times when he had to remember that Semi actually had to strive to be organized, to get his work done and attend volleyball practices at the same time, just like any other person on the team. He always forgot, with how often the older boy lectured him for the tiniest things.

“What are you doing here?” Semi finally asked, rubbing his eyes. He sounded drained. “Did you—did you  _ run _ here?”

Shirabu stiffened. “You’re not worth running for,” he said. 

“ _ What, _ you little—why are you—”

It was a question he had been hoping to avoid. It wasn’t like he knew the answer himself, why he had departed from the team gathering on a whim and let his feet carry him to a dorm two floors higher than his own. Plus, it wasn’t like he  _ wanted _ to see his senpai. It must have been that he was the last person he’d talked to before Goshiki came back, and in his rush to escape, their brief conversation about Semi’s date was the first thing on his mind. However, when Shirabu parted his lips to speak, he made the mistake of noticing that Semi was trying to sneak a glance at the clock. His heart thudded against his ribs, slow and heavy.

“I actually need to study, too,” he found himself saying. “We can head to the library together.”

Semi stared at him like he had lost his mind. “What?”

“Hurry up, Semi-san.” Shirabu pulled open the door. “You know it’s going to close in two hours, right?”

Semi rubbed his eyes again with the back of his hand, the way Coach Washijo did whenever someone missed a receive or let their serve hit the net. “Right,” he muttered, falling into step beside him. Shirabu made a point of training his eyes on the ground, not giving his senpai the satisfaction of looking up—if he did, it would feel like losing. As they waited for the elevator, Semi raised an eyebrow and said, as politely as he could, “Shirabu, you do know that I’m going on a—”

“I know you have a date, Semi-san.”

Semi frowned. “Why are you being so weird?”

“Shut up, I’m not being weird!” The elevator doors opened then, and they filed inside, finding a vacant spot in the back. There were several other students there, but none of them looked up, which Shirabu was thankful for. “I just decided to be nice and walk with you, okay?”

“Well, excuse me if kindness isn’t normal for you,” Semi muttered, but Shirabu just raised his chin and pretended not to hear.

Of course, Semi was right. He had every right to be suspicious of Shirabu, who either disregarded or shot down his advice on a daily basis. Contrary to what his teammates might have joked about in the past, he  _ did _ think about people other than himself, thank you very much, but those people rarely extended to Semi. He didn’t go out of his way to avoid him, but if they weren’t arguing over setting, conversations tended to fall flat. They were just too different to get along. Semi was disgustingly well-liked, and Shirabu didn’t care much for small talk.

That was the thing: Semi could direct the flow of any conversation. Shirabu had seen it with his own eyes, how his senpai chatted with the girls next to him in the lunch line and helped the elderly with their groceries and, on certain occasions, made friends with his teachers. It was only with him that Semi didn’t even try. Granted, Shirabu tried even less than he did, but he was still irritated.

He shifted his weight from leg to leg. Now that they were heading to the library, he found himself wondering why he hadn’t given a different excuse. It was too late now. He would have to bear through two hours of hushed whispers and flirty glances at the library, all because Semi had to tell him about his stupid date.

Who would have agreed to go out with  _ Semi,  _ anyway? If anything, Shirabu knew him better than most, and that was purely through observation. He knew that Semi liked music and hummed in the showers after practice and that he wasn’t a bad setter, regardless of what he might say to his face. He disliked her already, whoever this girl was.

They endured the long walk to the library in a tense silence. Shirabu didn’t bother to hide his scowl when they signed in at the library and Semi clapped him on the shoulder, thanking him for the company.

“I’ll see you at practice tomorrow. Don’t forget to eat dinner.”

Shirabu shrugged his hand off. “Shouldn’t you be going on your date?”

“Don’t sound so bitter,” Semi said. “You could have your own date if you weren’t busy glaring at everyone we just passed.”

“ _ Me _ ?”

“Yes, you could. You’re not…” Semi hesitated, searching for the right word and finally settling on, “You’re not  _ that  _ bad-looking. I mean, the bangs need work, but don’t give me that look. This is one thing you can’t argue with me about.”

“I could argue with you if I wanted to, but I would just be wasting my energy.”

Semi snorted. “Very funny.”

Shirabu watched as he spun around and started heading deeper into the library, where wooden circular tables had been set up for students to meet and spread out their belongings. He lost sight of his stupid dyed hair when Semi disappeared behind the nonfiction aisles, so Shirabu let his mouth curl back into a frown and started examining the books on the nearby shelves. They were all books he’d read for first year literature, so after a while of wandering the aisles, he whirled around and located an empty table to start doing the work he told Semi he’d come here for.

The table he’d chosen had a view of Semi and his date from the back. It was far enough that he couldn’t hear their conversation, but close enough to know how things were progressing, judging from the way they were leaning into each other. Shirabu rolled his eyes and hid his face behind his textbook. This was the worst day to have forgotten his headphones. It was already bad enough that he was familiar with this girl—she was in his class—and she was exactly the kind of girl who made homemade chocolates on Valentine’s Day instead of buying them from the store. She probably had nice handwriting and filled her notes with doodles of her initials and Semi’s initials together in a little heart. How off-putting that his senpai liked these kinds of girls. Shirabu thought he would’ve liked someone much more interesting—someone to talk about music with, perhaps, or someone who could argue with him when they wanted to.

He frowned at his completed set of practice problems. He had been working without realizing it.

Shirabu tried to start reading the next section in his textbook, but at the sudden burst of a familiar laugh, he couldn’t help but glance up. Semi had taken off his blazer, and the sleeves of his shirt were rolled up to his elbows as he grinned at something the girl had said—not one of his smirks, but one of his real smiles.  _ Oh,  _ his brain noted unhelpfully. The light streaming through the window caught in his hair and turned his skin golden, as if he was staring at the sun itself. Shirabu did whatever it was that people should do in that case: he looked away.

Despite his better judgement, he continued to steal a glance whenever Semi laughed, whenever Semi rolled up his sleeves some more, whenever he did anything that remotely required moving. He couldn’t help it. Semi laughed loud enough to distract everyone in the library, but no one seemed to care when it came from him, which was infuriating. That was why, when his date left to go to the bathroom, Shirabu took the opportunity to gather his belongings and slide into the open seat beside Semi.

Semi just stared. Clearly, he’d forgotten he was there.

“Shirabu, what the actual  _ hell _ —”

He gestured to his book. “Since you’ve been distracting me, do you mind explaining the difference between nodes and antinodes?”

“I’m—” He sputtered. “She’s going to be back!”

“Well, you should explain it fast, then.”

“Oh, fucking  _ fine _ .” Semi sighed and dragged his chair closer, leaning over to look at the textbook. “Why do you need my help? You never need help with your work.”

“I’m asking you now, aren’t I?” 

Semi rolled his eyes and started explaining the diagram. 

Here was the other thing: Shirabu already  _ knew _ . He didn’t pass the Shiratorizawa entrance exams just to be confused by a simple reading. He just needed to shut his senpai up with something actually useful. It wasn’t like Shirabu  _ cared  _ that Semi was laughing so loudly at his date’s jokes. It was just that if he heard Semi laugh one more time, he was going to die from association.

Shirabu hated him for always being so fucking distracting at the worst possible times.

Of course, it was in Semi’s nature to ask if he needed help with anything else, and Shirabu knew he was taking advantage, but he pointed out a couple other things on the page. By the time Semi was showing him a formula, his date had come back and was standing uncertainly behind Semi’s chair, glancing between him and Shirabu as if she was interrupting something. Semi hadn’t seen her yet.

Shirabu looked up and fixed her with a glare that made her shrink back. 

“—so, does that make sense? Shirabu. Oi, Shirabu.”

He jumped and looked back at his senpai. Shirabu was startled to realize that, for what wasn’t actually the first time, he was seeing Semi through his date’s eyes. Up close, Shirabu could see the golden flecks in his hazel eyes, how his eyebrows scrunched up when he was thinking, the soft light through the window that traced his skin like a lover. It was even worse up close.

Shirabu swallowed. “Yeah, I get it now,” he muttered.

Semi started frowning. “We have practice tomorrow,” he said, which translated to, You should go back to the dorms.

“Semi-san?” the girl called.

Semi whirled around so fast, Shirabu swore he would get whiplash. He didn’t know whether or not to be thankful that the girl interrupted what would likely turn out to be another lecture, or if he should continue disliking her for enabling Semi’s ridiculous laughter.

“Ahh, I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t keep you too long,” Semi babbled, and practically _shoved_ Shirabu out of his chair when he stood up.

“No, it’s okay, Semi-san.” The girl sat down again and smiled at him. Shirabu was sick to his stomach.

He took a few steps towards the bookshelves before turning back around, thinking better of it. “Hey,” Shirabu called to Semi, and the older setter looked back towards him, a mix between exasperation and curiosity on his face. He took another step closer and let his hand fall on Semi’s exposed forearm, where he had rolled up his sleeves. “Thank you for your help, _Eita_ ,” he murmured, and he tried to make it sound as sincere as possible, but instead it came out breathy and not at all what he intended.

Semi blushed and stared at the fingers curled around his arm. “You’re welcome,  _ Kenjirou _ ,” he shot back.

“See you around.” He withdrew his hand and gave the girl a deadly look one more time before hurrying towards the entrance of the library, leaving an embarrassed Semi in his wake. When Shirabu was finally outside, he cursed to himself and thought about how much he despised his senpai.

There was no way he could go back to that library after what he had done. It was a shame—he really did like that library. 

  
  


The second time he ruined Semi’s chances with someone, Shirabu swore that it wasn’t  _ just _ his fault. Semi had texted the groupchat that morning to say that he would have to pass on extra practice because he was taking a girl out to dinner. Shirabu spent most of the school day scowling at the chalkboard. He didn’t care much for his senpai—really, he didn’t—but who would pass up on extra practice for a  _ date _ ? They had a practice match with one of the best universities coming up, and he was going to murder Semi if he messed up one of his pinch serves. At lunch, he found himself complaining to Taichi.

“It’s fucking ridiculous how Semi gets all these girls and he doesn’t even practice like he should. Scouts will be watching soon, you know.”

“Maybe he doesn’t want to continue volleyball after high school,” Taichi suggested.

“Of course he does,” Shirabu answered, and then frowned at his water bottle.  _ Did  _ Semi want to continue playing volleyball? He couldn’t imagine a year where he stood on a court and the older setter wasn’t present, even for a quick practice match with whatever university he chose. If Semi didn’t continue, it was very possible they would never see each other again.

Before he could stop and ask himself when he started caring, Taichi spoke up again, beating him to the punch. “I don’t know why you care so much,” he said, taking another bite of his bento. “If you wanted a date so much, you could just ask someone out, too.”

“Why would I ask someone out?” Shirabu was dumbfounded.

Taichi frowned at him like it was obvious. “You’re mad because Semi has a date and you don’t.”

Shirabu stared at his best friend as if seeing him for the first time. That must have been it. There was no other way to explain how dreadful he’d felt all morning, or how much it had bothered him when he read Semi’s text in the groupchat. He’d never been on a date himself, after all, and he hated losing.

He slammed his hands on the lunch table, causing several students nearby to glare. Shirabu ignored them. “Taichi,” he whispered. He would rather die than let anyone hear him. “You need to ask Semi where his date is tonight.”

It was Taichi’s turn to look dumbfounded. “What?”

“I’m asking a girl out for dinner.”

“And you want to bring her to the same restaurant?” Taichi shook his head, like Shirabu was insane. “Do you even  _ know  _ what to do on a date?”

“Neither do you,” he retorted.

Taichi snorted and leaned back in his chair, finishing off the last of his bento. “Ask him yourself,” was all he said.

Shirabu was going to murder someone.

At the end of class, he asked out a pretty but meek girl in his year, who he knew was too nice to decline. Never mind that he had barely looked at her until today. He was determined to prove to Semi that he could have a date, too—not that he was aware they were having a competition, anyway. 

He found himself in the locker room without the knowledge of where his senpai was going that night. Shirabu peeked around to make sure he hadn’t arrived yet—or Goshiki, for that matter, who ran his mouth like a river—and glowered as he made his way towards where Tendou and Ushijima’s lockers were. Tendou noticed him approaching and waved, a wide smile on his face. “Kenjirou-kun! How’s my favorite underclassman?”

Ushijima just nodded in greeting. Tendou often spoke enough for the both of them.

Shirabu grinded his teeth together and shut his eyes. There was no turning back now. “Tendou-san, Ushijima-san, do you know where Semi-san has his date tonight?”

Tendou’s grin widened. He looked almost predatory. “Oho, why do you want to know?”

“I just do.”

“Lay off, Satori,” Reon called from several lockers over.  _ Great,  _ Shirabu thought,  _ more people are listening _ . It was getting harder to keep his cheeks from turning too dark.

Ushijima frowned. “Eita is going to miss personal practice tonight.”

“Oh, come on, Wakatoshi! He’s in love—” Shirabu cringed as Tendou slung his arm around Ushijima’s shoulders, swaying the both of them around. “So is Shirabu!”

“What?” Shirabu snapped, a little too harsh. “I’m not in love.”

“Is that right? Eita said that you scared away his date a couple weeks ago.”

Shirabu flushed. “Where will his date be?” he repeated, perhaps more forcefully than he had to.

Tendou tapped his chin, like he was thinking. “What’s the magic word?”

“What the—okay, fine,  _ please _ !”

His voice was much too loud and his entire team seemed to be gaping at him. Shirabu turned around and hid his face in his hands, threatening to burn up right there on the spot. It was his only solace that Semi wasn’t in the room and, therefore, couldn’t make fun of his red face. He left the locker room that day with his cheeks on fire and the name of the restaurant that Semi would be having dinner at that night.

Practice went by in a blur. Coach split everyone into teams of two so they could go against each other, and with Goshiki shrieking in his ear every few seconds, Shirabu threatened him with an early and painful death. The only team they couldn’t hold their own against was Semi and Ushijima, and he thought he might kill one of his teammates for real when the match ended and Semi stepped up to the net to talk to him, their faces much too close for his liking, even with something in between them.

“You did well today,” he said.

It wasn’t the so-called advice he was expecting, and it was certainly unusual. Then again, one look at Semi’s stupid face and his absent smile only reminded Shirabu that his senpai was in a good mood because of his date tonight, and that Shirabu had his  _ own _ date to suffer through later on. He wasn’t sure what dates were supposed to be like, but he felt like shit. He didn’t know why he had gone through with his fucking plan in the first place.

When the time came for Coach to leave and extra practice began, Shirabu saw Semi slipping out the gym to head to the locker room. “Semi-san!” he called out, hurrying to catch up with him. 

Semi turned in surprise, one hand on the doorknob. Shirabu came to a stop in front of the door, chest heaving, wedging one foot in the doorway. “I have to go now. Let me through.” He needed to get to the restaurant before him, after all.

Semi wrinkled his nose. “What? Are you hurt?”

Leave it to him to insult someone while just trying to be concerned. He sighed. “No, everything’s fine.”

“But you always stay for extra practice,”

Shirabu stood up as straight as he could, trying to muster up the confidence his senpai had the day at the lake. “I have a date tonight,“ he declared.

There was a long pause in which he studied Semi’s face. He seemed to be deep in thought—either that or not paying much attention—and his brows were furrowed, which could only mean that the gears in his head were spinning. Shirabu took a step back, triumphant, waiting for the inevitable moment when Semi’s expression would rearrange itself to one of confusion, or perhaps he would even look crestfallen—

—but Semi, moron of all morons, had the audacity to look  _ pleased.  _

Of all the outcomes he had run through in his mind, none of them included Semi looking happy. All he did was smile and clap his hand on Shirabu’s shoulder, exactly like he did that day at the library. He was a kinder person than Shirabu by leaps and bounds; there was no hint of suspicion or malice in his voice. 

“I don’t know anyone who could go out with you.” He was throwing his words back in his face, but it sounded lighthearted this time.

Shirabu grimaced and twisted out of his grip. “Shut the fuck up, Semi-san.”

Semi, to his surprise, didn’t take the bait. He just let go of his shoulder and disappeared into the locker room, humming under his breath, exactly as someone with a date should.

Disgusting, Shirabu thought.

He got changed back into his school uniform as quickly as he could and stood in front of the mirror to fix his hair. Semi came up behind him after a couple of minutes, his bag slung over his shoulder. Shirabu caught his eye in the reflection that stared back out at the both of them.

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm,” Semi said grudgingly. So he still remembered Shirabu’s offer to walk him to the library, after all.

“I don’t need your help, Semi-san.” He tried to sound as polite as possible. 

Semi made a face. “Have fun on your date.”

He turned to leave, but Shirabu startled suddenly, grabbing Semi’s bag to pull him back. Semi jumped and looked at him like he regretted ever stopping to talk again.

Of course, his mouth betrayed him. “You’re in casual clothes.”

Semi flushed and looked away. “Well, I’m going on a date, too, aren’t I?”

Shirabu didn’t answer. His eyes were too busy roaming across his body, the black leather jacket, the ripped jeans that didn’t look as tacky as they would in a store window. It was all  _ Semi,  _ and it was all too much. Semi stared at him with cheeks burning, like all he wanted to do was run out of the locker room, but stubborn pride rooted him to the spot, letting Shirabu’s gaze drift up and down. After a second, reality caught up with him, and Shirabu shoved him away, much harder than necessary. Semi stumbled into the lockers. He was sure both of them wanted the ground to swallow them up whole.  _ Did I really just check out my annoying senpai? _

“It doesn’t look bad, does it?” Semi sounded panicked. “I made Hayato choose the outfit—I don’t trust Tendou’s fashion sense, but he said I’d scare away everyone if I dressed like I normally do—I didn’t think it was  _ that _ bad, though—quit  _ staring,  _ you’re so disrespectful to your upperclassmen, Shirabu—”

How fucking dense his senpai could be. He met Semi’s frantic eyes through the mirror again, since he could not bring himself to look at him directly.

“Good day, Semi-san!” Shirabu croaked, and then sprinted out of the locker room as fast as he could. Thank God for Shiratorizawa conditioning.

His first priority was to go back to his dorm. It hadn’t even occurred to him that this was something to dress up for. By the time he had changed into nicer clothes and met his date in the common area, he knew there was no chance he was going to get there before Semi. The two of them headed off the school grounds and towards the prefecture’s downtown in silence, only exchanging a few words here and there. Shirabu raised his head and watched the looming sign of the restaurant grow closer, letting his breath turn into fog in the cool nighttime air, circling around their heads like a smoky halo. He saw the girl looking at him and tried his best to smile back at her.

The restaurant Semi had chosen was a good option for a date. There were circular tables and modern artwork lining the walls that he didn’t know the names of, even though Semi probably did. It wasn’t too fancy, but it didn’t seem too casual, either. Shirabu located him the second they walked in, because dyed hair is hard to miss. He was sitting at a table towards the back of the restaurant, gesturing as he told an anecdote. The restaurant was dimly lit, and from the soft candlelight on the table, he could just make out the small upturn of Semi’s lips when he spoke, how his eyes crinkled at the corners when he threw back his head to laugh. The awkward tension from the walk over was almost worth the look on Semi’s face when the busboy led Shirabu and his date to the table right beside them. He had to lift his menu to hide his smirk.

Naturally, the first thing Semi said was, “What the hell?”

“I see you still lack tact, Semi-san,” he replied, and revelled in the angry scrunch of Semi’s eyebrows that he received in return. “This is Mei.”

Semi’s face smoothed out instantly as he introduced himself to Shirabu’s date. Shirabu noticed the blush on Mei’s face and couldn’t help but scowl. There it was, the charm that Semi seemed to use on everyone else in the world.

“Shirabu-kun?” He dragged his gaze away from Semi to look at Semi’s date. She smiled at him from the table over, sticking her hand out for a shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve watched a few of your matches.”

So Semi  _ had  _ to go on a date with a fucking angel. Of course he did. This time she seemed to be more his type, with scarlet lipstick and a face that screamed its chances of breaking an unlucky boy’s heart. Shirabu was surprised to find that he disliked her even more than the first girl.

“Shirabu is the main setter,” Semi drawled.

“Weren’t you the setter before, Eita?”

He tried not to cringe. The irrational part of him screamed,  _ She calls him Eita?  _ The more rational side told him to focus on the bigger problem at hand.

Semi surprised him by not freaking out. He just looked away. “Yeah, I was. But Shirabu works harder than most people I know.”

His words were nonchalant, as if it was common knowledge between everyone in the world, and Shirabu was startled into silence. Before he could think up something witty to say—or maybe he could try to say something nice back for once, wasn’t that a thought?—their waiter was already coming back to their table. By the time everyone had ordered, the conversation seemed to have slipped into entrance exams for university, and no one seemed to pay any mind to what Semi had said. Perhaps his intention was that it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.

Still, Shirabu couldn’t help dwelling on it. He knew he probably looked stupid, glaring at the table while everyone else chatted, but he had been told before that a scowl was his usual expression, so it wasn’t that far off. No one seemed to notice anything was wrong.

No one except Semi, that was. Shirabu always forgot that just by being around each other all the time, Semi knew him better than most. “Shirabu, can we talk for a second?”

That was the last thing he wanted to do. “I’m fine where I am, Semi-san.”

Semi shot him a dirty look. When his senpai turned towards his date and fell back into the conversation with the practiced ease of someone who knew how to communicate like the back of their hand, Shirabu was surprised at how dry his throat felt. He could not pinpoint the exact moment he had started caring about what Semi did, but it had to be some time between them talking at the lake and now—perhaps even before that. It could just as easily have been during his first year, when they were the last people in the locker room before Inter Highs and he caught Semi wiping his eyes in front of the mirror, like intruding on a private moment he wasn’t supposed to witness. Looking at him now gave him the same feeling.

Somehow, his plan to make Semi see that he was perfectly capable of having his own date had turned into a double date  _ with _ him, which was his worst nightmare. Shirabu pushed his greens around his plate with his chopsticks, not wanting to look up. As Mei and Semi’s date started chattering about some of the best places to shop—who even knew that Mei could talk so much?—he felt Semi’s eyes on him, and finally lifted his head. “What do you want?”

“We’re still going to talk later.” Before Shirabu could protest, he scowled and continued, “Believe me, I don’t want to, either. Go to the rooftop after you drop Mei-chan off.”

“I don’t know what’s so important that we need to talk about.”

Semi looked like he wanted to kill him, but since they were in public, he couldn’t. All he did was slide his chair back and stand up. “I need to use the restroom,” he told the girls, who only nodded before continuing their conversation. To Shirabu, he grinded his teeth together and said, “Since you don’t ever listen to me, don’t bother talking to me again.”

Shirabu blinked and put down his chopsticks. This was new. It was true that they didn’t see eye-to-eye on many issues, and they were both stubborn enough that neither of them ever wanted to compromise. However, Semi had never threatened him with the silent treatment before.

“Okay,” was all he said, because he himself could be quite the bastard when he felt inclined to do so.

Semi didn’t even look at him as he stalked off.

He didn’t come back for several minutes, and Shirabu tried to pretend that this was just like any altercation they’ve had. He pushed his food around his plate some more and answered questions when prompted. However, when the waiter came by with the bill, he found himself pulling out his wallet and then heading down the hallway to the men’s restroom. 

Shirabu pushed open the door tentatively, well aware that he had overstayed his welcome at the restaurant. No one was standing at the sinks, but one of the stall doors were closed, and he knew Semi had to be inside. “Semi-san?” he called, wincing at the crack in his voice.

There was no response.

It wasn’t like he was  _ worried _ . It was just that this fight was different than usual, and he wanted to make sure it wouldn’t affect their playing. That was it.

“I know you’re in there, Semi-san. Don’t be childish.”

The stall door swung open, and Shirabu had to jump back to avoid getting hit, although that had probably been the intention. Semi stormed towards the sinks without even looking up. It was like he wasn’t there at all. 

“ _ Semi! _ ”

It came out louder than he had intended, and even Semi flinched in surprise, but that’s when his eyes fell to Semi’s hands. The knuckles of his right hand were raw and a little bloodied, as if he had punched the wall. Shirabu sucked in a breath.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he said, before he could stop himself. Semi turned off the sink and reached for the paper towels. The white soon turned crimson red. “You have to clean it properly.”

Since when did he start sounding less like a brat and more like Semi’s junior? He couldn’t remember the last time he had tried to give him advice instead of the other way around, yet here he was, in the bathroom of a restaurant he had never been to before, standing in front of the only boy who made him as riled up as he did. 

Semi threw out the paper towels and moved past him to open the door. Shirabu whirled around and grabbed his good arm, swallowing his heart back down his throat when Semi finally met his glare. His eyes were defiant, Dante’s Inferno, shining with a kind of fiery intensity he had never seen before, not even when he took his spot on the first string. This might have been the worst possible time to realize how attractive Semi was—how attractive he had always been.

Shirabu’s mouth moved of his own accord. “I already paid for dinner,” he told him. “We’re going to buy some supplies from the drugstore.”

Semi pulled his arm free, but it was slower this time, as if resigning himself to his fate. He was frowning instead of glowering. In his eyes lingered the same defiance, but it wasn’t the same as before.

He felt the fleeting urge to kiss him.

When they reached their table, both of the girls’ coats were gone, and it appeared they had already left. Semi stared at the vacant seat where his date had been sitting with an expression that warned Shirabu not to mention anything. Time found the two of them sitting on the curb just minutes later, legs stretched out into the street, Shirabu holding a first-aid kit he had just purchased from the drugstore. “Hold still,” he whispered, like it was some kind of secret, and Semi’s lips quirked up, as the silent treatment was just a petty game now. Shirabu found himself relaxing. He hadn’t taken into account how relieved he would be to see Semi smile. “This will sting.”

He took his time bandaging up Semi’s knuckles, paying attention to how close they were sitting, how Semi’s breath rattled when he accidentally pressed down too hard. He was as careful as possible, trying to treat fixing his senpai up the way he treated volleyball—with unwavering confidence, with pinpoint precision, just like setting.

“You’ll have to change these bandages after a while,” Shirabu murmured. He finally finished and glanced up at Semi. Semi was looking back at him, amused. The soft lamplight washed over both of their faces, shrouding the downtown strip in a golden sheen, spilling over the side of Semi’s face like bottled sunlight. Their faces were awfully close together. “See, I listen to you sometimes.”

Semi let out a shaky breath as their foreheads bumped together. “I see that,” he replied, his voice hoarse from disuse.

“Are you done being childish?”

“Fucking brat,” he said, but it sounded endearing. He held out his good hand to help Shirabu up.

  
  


Of the two years they had been on the volleyball team together, Shirabu had never realized how muscular Semi’s arms were until now. He couldn’t take his eyes off him when he practiced his jump serve, when he received, when he pulled his practice jersey off in the locker room. It was almost irritating, actually, how attractive Semi could be without even trying. That meant the times he tried to look good and  _ knew  _ he looked good were even worse. One day, Semi waltzed in from the showers with only his towel wrapped around his waist, and Shirabu wanted to die.

“Semisemi, when did your abs become so defined?” Tendou poked Semi, who slapped his hand away and frowned.

“Shut up, they’ve always looked like that!” But then his eyes crinkled at the corners, and Shirabu knew that Semi must’ve been working out even more in his free time.

“Tendou’s right,” Ushijima said from his locker, which was almost funny.

“What do you think, Shirabu?” Tendou asked suddenly, and it seemed that everyone in the room turned to face him with an expectant look, even the first years, who were usually too scared to participate in Tendou’s antics. Shirabu resisted the urge to hide his flushed cheeks and turned to look Semi in the eye, as if to challenge him. Semi just stared back and smirked, unfazed, the same amused expression on his face that he always seemed to be wearing around him nowadays. It was almost fond.

“Could be better,” he lied through his teeth.

Taichi snorted beside him, that traitor. “Liar,” he muttered, and if Shirabu  _ accidentally  _ set a ball into his face when practice started, he would forever blame it on his fingers slipping.

So what if his senpai was more good-looking than he had realized? It wasn’t like it affected his playing, which was the most important thing. Semi, dense as ever, had not appeared to notice any change in Shirabu’s demeanor, which was both a good and a bad thing. All he did was continue to lecture him about eating more often and tossing to people other than Ushijima, and every time it happened, Shirabu stared at the gym floor as if he had never seen it before. If he  _ accidentally _ started going out of his way to avoid Semi, he didn’t know why. Not at all.

It was almost ridiculous, actually, this unfortunate attraction to the older setter. As far as most were concerned, they only tolerated each other. Shirabu only took his advice when he felt like it, and Semi wouldn’t stop coddling him over every little thing. He took Semi’s position as Shiratorizawa’s main setter. All of that combined should have been enough to make them despise each other, but Semi had  _ muscles _ and the nicest fucking smile in the world—even if it wasn’t ever directed at him—and it was all very quickly starting to become an issue.

Around the fifth time Semi pulled him aside for a lecture, he finally brought up the problem at hand. “Hey, look your upperclassmen in the eye when they talk to you.” Semi passed him a water bottle and looked back towards the practice match Coach Washijo had set up that morning. Shirabu tried his best not to stare at the way his practice jersey stuck to his damp skin, but it proved to be a more difficult task than it seemed. “Actually, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about that.”

He swallowed. “About what?”

“You’ve been acting strange recently.” Semi seemed to take Shirabu’s appalled expression as him being offended and backtracked. “Not with your playing, I mean. You’ve been doing fine. It’s just—if anything’s going on, you know you can talk to me, right?”

Shirabu just stared.

Semi sounded frustrated. “Okay, you don’t need to talk to  _ me,  _ but you can talk to someone. The point is, we’re a team.” He paused for a second, like he wanted to ask him something else, but just as he opened his mouth, Coach gestured for Shirabu to get ready to go back in the game. Semi shot Shirabu a glance that was almost apologetic and backed away.

“Semi-san,” he found himself saying.

Semi turned back around and raised an eyebrow, water bottle raised halfway to his lips.

“Are you—” He couldn’t believe the words that were coming out of his mouth. “Are you busy this Saturday?”

“I have plans,” Semi answered immediately, and his heart thudded to a stop. “I should be free the Saturday after that,” he added, and Shirabu swore to himself never to tell anyone how his cheeks reddened. However, Semi fixed him with a suspicious stare. “You’re not planning on killing me, are you?”

Shirabu scoffed. Old habits die hard. “Am I?”

“I wouldn’t put it past you,” Semi said. He turned to finish his water, but Shirabu hesitated again. It was his turn to be suspicious.

“You have a date this Saturday?” he asked, already dreading the inevitable.

Semi smiled and looked away, biting the cap of his bottle. “Something like that.”

Of course he did.

“Don’t worry, though,” Semi continued, completely oblivious to the way Shirabu was glaring daggers at the ground, “we can still practice your serve next weekend.”

“Practice my serve?”

Semi’s eyebrows furrowed. “Yeah, isn’t that why you wanted to see me?”

So his senpai couldn’t take a hint. He was even more obtuse than Shirabu thought. Since he wasn’t going to say anything outright, he supposed it was only right to leave Semi in the dark.

“Yes, that’s why,” Shirabu said.

Semi’s gaze softened. “Sorry,” he offered, as if that made everything better. “I’m normally free on the weekend, but he wasn’t free Friday night.”

Shirabu froze. Semi’s eyes widened almost comically, looking at him in alarm. 

“Are you okay?”

“ _ He _ ?” Shirabu blurted.

Semi tilted his head, as if they had all the time in the world. “I’m bi,” he said breezily. Then his brows knitted again. “Do you have a problem with that?”

Oh.  _ Oh.  _ This was fucking grand. The bastard he was attracted to liked girls  _ and _ boys, and now Shirabu knew he wasn’t going to get over this one easily.

Before he could say anything, Coach Washijo was already waving him over, a ferocity in his eyes that only came from when his players were chatting on the sidelines. Semi stepped away from Shirabu as if he had burned him, scowling with enough force to uproot a city. Shirabu’s tongue was tied as he hurried over to the bench, eyes trained on the ground.

“Ten extra laps of diving drills when this match ends,” Coach snapped when he arrived. “Tell Eita that he’s going to do thirty more serves with that. Just because he’s on the second string doesn’t mean he can get away with talking too much on the sidelines.” He spared Shirabu a sharp glance, as if to say, You might be first string, but you aren’t safe, either.

Shirabu bowed and waited for the whistle to blow, gnawing the inside of his cheek. After he was switched back into the match, their side racked up points quickly, so Coach decided to make them do a couple more sets. By the time the university team was packing up, everyone was exhausted and panting, practically keeling over. Coach Washijo stood from his bench and yelled at them to start their diving and serving drills.

Even Reon looked tired. “Come on,” he murmured, straightening up and clapping a hand on Hayato’s back. Poor Goshiki looked like he was about to be sick. “We don’t want to do any more than we need to.”

He could feel Semi stiffen from beside him. Coach had clearly informed him of their punishment.

The diving drills were painful, and the one hundred serves made his arms feel like lead. Shirabu gritted his teeth as he hit his final one, listening for the heavy thud as it soared onto the other side of the court. Him, Semi, and some of the first years were the only ones still left in the gymnasium; naturally, his eyes drifted to his senpai. Semi looked just as spent as he felt, leaning over to take deep breaths, his hands on his thighs.

“How many more?” Shirabu’s voice was cautious. Even though Coach had packed up the second Ushijima had finished his serves, he was still wary.

Semi coughed and shook his head. “Twenty,” he managed.

“I’ll wait for you to finish.”

“Wait for me in the locker room,” was all Semi said. Shirabu didn’t blame him for not wanting people to watch.

He lingered in the shower, letting the warm water run over the new blisters on his hands. After he had changed back into his uniform and sat on the bench, organizing his bag, Semi finally stumbled in, hair disheveled, practice jersey soaked through. He collapsed on the bench beside him. “ _ Fuck _ ,” he groaned, pushing his head into his hands.

Shirabu’s hands wandered, falling to Semi’s shoulders. He rubbed a slow circle there, letting his head fall to the nape of Semi’s neck. “It’s over,” he whispered, soothing and calm. “You did well.”

Semi exhaled and turned his head to face him. They were so close that Shirabu could feel his soft breath on his lips, the way his sticky hair was starting to curl at the ends. His hands stilled on Semi’s shoulders.

“I don’t have a problem with you being bisexual,” he said, just to make sure he knew.

“Okay.” Semi sounded drowsy, almost intoxicated. He was looking at Shirabu’s lips.

Shirabu swallowed. “Semi-san?”

“Okay,” he repeated, letting his eyes slide shut. Shirabu let his eyes travel freely across Semi’s face, taking in his gleaming skin, the flutter of eyelash on his cheek. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“What?”

“It’s a little weird,” he said. “Especially for you.”

“It’s your fucking fault.”

“Hmm,” Semi breathed, and he could hear the smirk in his voice. His eyes flicked up to meet Shirabu’s stare. “Why is that?”

Their lips were nearly touching. He let his gaze wander downwards, knowing that Semi was watching. Semi sighed, hazy and warm, just like an embrace. Shirabu’s mouth fell open as he leaned forward, determined for a kiss; however, Semi only ducked his head, cheeks pink.

“Not now,” he whispered. “I have a date on Saturday, remember?”

Shirabu could care less. “Are you going to kiss me, Semi-san?” he demanded, fisting his hand in the back of Semi’s jersey. Semi laughed shakily before leaning forward to graze his lips across his cheek—chaste, close-mouthed. Shirabu felt the heat pooling in his gut, fiery and scalding.

He tugged at Semi’s jersey. “Do it right.”

His senpai just laughed _.  _ Of all the things he could’ve done—kiss Shirabu on the mouth, for example—he decided to  _ laugh _ .

“I hate you so much, Semi-san.”

“Can you quit it with the honorifics? It drives me crazy.”

“I thought you wanted me to respect my elders,” Shirabu retorted.

“Not when you’re being a sarcastic little shit.” Semi rose from the bench, grimacing as he stood. “God, I’m so fucking sore.”

Shirabu watched him trudge off towards the showers before leaning back on the bench, dropping his head into his hands. “Fuck,” he whispered to himself, because this was all so much more trouble than it was worth.

_ Not now _ , Semi had said, and then he’d kissed him on the cheek. Did that mean he would kiss him properly later? Did he understand what Shirabu had meant? Would he have kissed him if he didn’t have a date? Perhaps it would be sometime after Saturday evening, if things didn’t go well. He didn’t even want to think about the outcome if things  _ did  _ go well. Not that Shirabu wanted to be the one dating Semi instead—he just found him attractive. That was all. 

(Attractive and muscular and bisexual.  _ That _ was it, though—really, he wasn’t lying. He was a fucking teenage dream with an obnoxious laugh and the worst dyed hair Shirabu had ever seen. Just another ordinary senpai.)

When Semi finished changing, Shirabu walked with him back to the dorms. It was the least he could do, after landing them both in hot water with Coach. “I hope you never recover,” he snapped after Semi had stopped in his doorway and teased him for being a good underclassman.

One corner of Semi’s lips quirked up. “You’re not cute at all, Shirabu.” He shut the door behind him, leaving Shirabu in the hallway with his eyebrows scrunched together and cheeks redder than a sunburn. He dragged himself back to his own dorm and collapsed onto his bed, shoving his face into his pillow, which earned him a judgemental look from Taichi. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

Saturday rolled around sooner than he thought it would. Shirabu spent most of the day in the gymnasium, serving one ball after another, trying not to think about Semi and his fucking date. Ushijima and Tendou came in after an hour or two, Goshiki trailing behind them like a lost puppy, so Ushijima suggested they play a two-on-two match.

“Are you okay, senpai?” Goshiki asked Shirabu as they tightened the volleyball net together. Shirabu glared at the floor, instantly regretting not pushing him onto Tendou’s side of the court when he had the chance. “You keep frowning.”

“Go die,” he snapped. Goshiki was affronted, but when Ushijima shot them both a warning look, Shirabu shut his mouth.

They ended up losing the first two sets, with Ushijima’s spikes being a pain in the ass to receive. That was almost expected. What was more embarrassing was how large the point-gap was. When the four of them gathered on the sidelines to take a break, Tendou sidled up beside him. “Kenjirou-kun,” he sang, wiggling his eyebrows. Shirabu thought about hiding behind Ushijima. “Something the matter? You’re awfully  _ distracted _ today.”

The way he said it implied he knew something he didn’t. “I’m fine, Tendou-san.”

“Hmm.” Tendou hummed, raising his water bottle to take a swig. After a moment, he arched his brow again. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with Semisemi, now, would it?”

Shirabu made the mistake of answering too sharply. “It has nothing to do with Semi-san.”

“So that’s a yes!” Turning to grin at Ushijima, Tendou waved his free arm around and said, “You owe me lunch.”

“You bet on me?” Shirabu asked, disgusted.

“Tendou told me that if he was right, I would have to buy him lunch,” Ushijima deadpanned. It was a little sad, actually, how Shirabu wasn’t even surprised.

Goshiki finished chugging his water and turned around, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. There was a curious expression on his face. “What about Semi-senpai?”

“ _ No _ ,” Shirabu growled. He pointed at him. “I’m definitely not answering your questions.”

“But you need to answer mine.” Tendou was still beaming when he faced him again. “So you figured out you had a crush on your senpai, Kenjirou-kun. Thrilling, right? It only took two years.”

“Don’t put it like that,” he hissed.

“Well, what do you want me to say? You’ve been staring at him whenever he served since you were a first year. Honestly, I’m shocked Semisemi hasn’t realized it yet.”

“ _ Oh, _ I noticed that,” Goshiki chimed in. Thanks a lot, Tendou.

“And don’t even get me started on that attitude you give him. You try to get a rise out of him half the time, but I know you think it’s adorable when you brush him off and he starts scowling at—”

“Shouldn’t we get back to the match?”

“Shirabu is right. We should continue practicing,” Ushijima said. He almost sounded relieved.

However, Tendou wasn’t finished. He fixed Shirabu with the sort of stare he used on their opponents during official matches. “There are better things to do than sit around and be jealous, though.”

His lips curved downwards. “I know that already.”

“No, no, not in that way. I’m just saying…” Tendou tipped his head backwards, staring up at the ceiling. Shirabu looked up, too, as if Tendou was finding answers in the rafters, but he saw nothing. “Go after Eita. You need to tell him how you feel directly instead of running around the bush. Believe me, he wouldn’t make a move unless he knew that you don’t hate him, and he already thinks you find him irritating.”

“I  _ do _ find him irritating,” Shirabu muttered, as though to prove some kind of point.

“You should figure out what you want with him first,” Ushijima offered, out of the blue.

Shirabu had to fight to keep his jaw from dropping.  _ Advice from Ushijima-san _ , he thought, dazed.  _ What has this situation come to? _

Goshiki gaped. “But aren’t you two always fighting? How would you date each other?”

“Shirabu can be nice when he wants to be,” Tendou said. The same sinister smile from before was starting to tug at the corners of his mouth, like he was keeping a secret. Shirabu only stared him down. They locked eyes for several seconds until Tendou gave up, letting out the most dramatic sigh Shirabu had ever heard in his life. “Semisemi told me about that time after the restaurant! You know, he has a soft spot for you, too.” Then he hesitated. “He  _ might _ have also shared that you told him to kiss you in the locker room a couple days ago.”

Shirabu wanted to crawl under a rock and die.

“But don’t worry! He didn’t say anything bad about you. He was just confused—of course he was, you’ve been so on-and-off with him over the past few weeks. To be honest, though, he can be so dumb when it comes to love! Goes after pretty people and chases relationships that would never last longer than a month.” Tendou placed his hand theatrically over his heart. “I bet you’ve been asking yourself, why does he go on so many dates? Why is he so goddamn oblivious? The truth is, you need to rescue him, Kenjirou-kun.”

Shirabu and Goshiki stared at him blankly. Ushijima seemed unimpressed.

“Are you finished, Tendou?” he asked.

Tendou was unaffected. “No applause, huh?” He set his water bottle back down on the bench. “It’s okay. You can just thank me when you make me the best man of your wedding.” Shirabu flushed an angry red. Before he could protest, Tendou gasped and said, “Wait, but wouldn’t there be  _ two _ best men? I guess it’s alright if you make Taichi yours, but if Semisemi doesn’t make me his—”

“I don’t think they could get married in Japan,” Goshiki added, unhelpful as always.

Shirabu pressed his fingers to his temples. “Okay, that’s enough,” he grumbled. He seized the volleyball from where they had left it on the ground and started to make his way back onto the court. “For the record, I never said I thought about marrying him.”

Goshiki followed him, chatting up a storm about how he had just been to a wedding for his cousin a couple months back. From somewhere behind them, Shirabu could hear Tendou telling Ushijima at a volume he must have thought was much quieter than it was, “Wakatoshi, I could see you being a ring bearer. Oh, don’t you think Goshiki-kun would make a good flower boy?”

Tendou caught the volleyball Shirabu hurled at him without even flinching. Being the Guess Monster did have its benefits, he supposed. 

  
  


**[to: dumbass senpai] (12:04):** How was your date?

**[from: dumbass senpai] (12:11):** it was okay

**[from: dumbass senpai] (12:11):** same old

**[from: dumbass senpai] (12:11):** and go to sleep. it’s getting late

**[to: dumbass senpai] (12:12):** Goodnight, Semi-san.

**[from: dumbass senpai] (12:12):** night, shirabu

  
  


The following week, Semi seemed to be in a worse mood than usual. He started staying after practice even longer, often being the last one out, serving for hours on end and only stopping when Reon threatened to drag him out. He didn’t laugh at the first years’ antics as much, and when Shirabu fucked up several tosses to Goshiki, he didn’t even try to lecture him. “You’re getting there,” was all he said, even though it was clear improvement was needed. Meanwhile, Tendou continued to make faces at Shirabu while changing in the locker room, while gathering balls on the court, while passing him in the hallway.

“Rescue him,” he stage-whispered every single time, until Ushijima finally approached him and told him he sounded insane.

Shirabu didn’t know how to feel about this change in Semi’s behavior. It was funny, how someone who had always been so transparent could stop wearing their heart out on their sleeve the very next day. He should have been grateful he didn’t need to hear his senpai rambling on about how there were other people than their miracle ace on the court and how it was okay to take risks in a game, no matter what Coach Washijo drilled into their heads. Instead, he found himself constantly wondering what was going on in Semi’s head. It used to be so easy to derive Semi’s thoughts, just from the look on his face.

The next weekend arrived before he even realized it was coming. Before Shirabu knew it, he was slinging his volleyball bag over his shoulder and preparing to practice his serve with Semi in the gym.

The satisfying sound of a volleyball thudding against the court met his ears before he even went inside. Someone had left the door ajar, so Shirabu peered in, wary. Just as he expected, Semi seemed to have been at it for awhile.

Semi was bending over to catch his breath, wiping the sweat away from his forehead, dyed hair stuck to sticky skin. After a few seconds, he straightened and ducked under the net to set up the water bottles again. Shirabu watched him serve one more time before finally pushing open the door, letting his sneakers squeak around the ground so he knew he was coming.

Semi whirled around. “Oh, you’re early,” he said, sounding startled.

“I could say the same about you, Semi-san.” Semi started gearing up for another serve, so Shirabu set his bag down, crossing his arms. “How long have you been here?”

The volleyball soared onto the other side of the court with pinpoint accuracy, sending another bottle clattering to the ground. “About thirty minutes.”

“You’ve been practicing a lot lately.”

He snorted. “At least someone notices my efforts.”

Shirabu frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Semi ignored him. He reached for another volleyball from the cart and spun it in his hands. “Why don’t you get changed? We can get started now, if you want.”

Under normal circumstances, Shirabu would have either brushed him off or retorted back for being ignored. This time, he bowed his head and grabbed his bag without an argument, dragging himself to the locker room. When he came back outside, Semi was sitting on the ground, fiddling with the towel in his hands. Shirabu joined him, starting his stretches.

The two of them sat next to each other for several minutes in silence, Shirabu warming up, Semi deep in thought. He was frowning at his water bottle, crunching the plastic in his hand over and over, but when Shirabu looked over at him, he just got to his feet and sighed.

“Are you coming?” Without another word, Semi started gathering the volleyballs he had left on the floor from earlier.

Shirabu stayed where he was, watching his senpai limp around the gym, a feeling akin to a dull burning in his heart. He looked down at his sneakers, intending not to do anything rash, but before he knew it, he was moving of his own accord and he found himself darting towards Semi, grabbing for the collar of his shirt and yanking him closer.

Semi stumbled, his hands falling to Shirabu’s shoulders to keep himself upright. Up close, he could make out the bead of sweat sliding down his neck, the dark crescents under his eyes. “Shirabu, what the fuck!”

“What the hell is going on with you?” Shirabu demanded.

“That’s none of your business.”

“I’m trying to be nice to you, Semi-san.”

“Well, it’s not exactly working for you, is it?” Semi snapped, pulling himself away. “Don’t you want to learn how to jump serve? Have another thing to snatch out from right under my nose?”

Shirabu was almost too shocked to respond. Semi was already whirling away with a scoff, muttering under his breath, but before he could get to the serving line, Shirabu shoved him, sending them both tumbling to the floor. They landed together on the court with a heavy  _ thud,  _ tangled limbs, bruises blossoming _.  _ Semi was pinned underneath his weight, wincing as if he had hit his head, but despite that, he still managed to shoot Shirabu the deadliest glare he could muster. It was another one of those things that came from pissing off the older setter regularly.

Shirabu rolled his eyes, trying to sit up. “Are you okay, Semi-san?” was the first thing out of his mouth.

Semi scowled. “You can’t just shove me and then ask if I’m  _ okay _ . You should be grateful I’m not chasing you right now—you’re fucking sitting on me!”

“Shut up, I didn’t think you would actually fall!” Shirabu forced himself to calm down, snapping his eyes shut. He sucked in a deep breath. “Can you just answer my question?”

“I’m not telling you anything.” Semi turned his head away, which was the most he could do. There was a long pause in which Shirabu just stared down at him, milking in the sultry sheen of his skin, the solid line of his jaw and his neck. It was greedy, to have such a sight before his eyes and keep it all to himself, but he couldn’t help it. Semi was too attractive for his own good.

“Like I said, it’s none of your business,” Semi whispered after a moment, but his voice had softened. He finally looked back at Shirabu, only to find his eyes tracing across his face like it was a famous art piece in a prestigious museum. Shirabu flushed, but he forced himself to meet Semi’s gaze. The setter underneath him seemed flustered. “Why do you care so much, anyway?”

“You’re running around the point,” he pointed out, sounding a little more affected than he would’ve liked.

Semi’s cheeks reddened to match Shirabu’s. “It’s your fault, though.”

He blinked. “What—”

“Let me finish.” His eyes slid shut, and Semi exhaled slowly, as if this pained him to admit. “You’re so fucking good at setting, and Shiratorizawa deserves to have a player like you on the team. Still… I want to play. And if what that takes is having to stand on the court as a pinch server, that’s just what I’ll do.”

Shirabu paused, unable to himself from frowning. “Is that all?”

Semi’s eyes widened. For several seconds, he seemed at a loss for words. “What do you mean,  _ is that all?  _ This is a big deal to me, you brat. I’m so—I can’t believe I even—” He tried to shove Shirabu off of him, but Shirabu glowered even harder, grabbing Semi’s face and yanking his chin upwards so he would look him in the eye.

“I didn’t mean it like that, idiot.”

“Good to know your sarcasm is still intact,” he grumbled.

“ _ No,  _ I meant—” Tendou’s words echoed in his mind at the worst possible time, and Shirabu blanched.  _ The truth is, you need to rescue him, Kenjirou-kun. _ Never thought he’d see the day where he admitted Tendou was right. “Eita,” he blurted out, and underneath him, Semi stilled. “I thought you were going to say something else.”

Semi twisted his head away. He almost looked nervous.

“Okay, yes, there’s another thing, but I was hoping you wouldn’t bring it up.” His neck was a spectacular shade of scarlet, his embarrassment so transparent, and Shirabu almost couldn’t keep himself from leaning down to press his lips there. “Look, I always go out with people, but what drives me crazy is that you keep showing up. Even last time, when you weren’t even there, I kept  _ expecting _ you to show up. You’ve ruined all my fucking dates—”

“I like you.”

“—and you’re such a goddamn brat, you make me want to serve a ball into the back of your head during every single practice—”

“I like you, Eita.”

“—then in the locker room, you told me to  _ kiss _ you and that freaked me out so much, I thought you must have been on drugs—”

“ _ Eita _ !” 

Semi finally snapped his head up, glaring at him. His cheeks were bright red. “I heard you the first time, Kenjirou, but I wanted to finish what I was saying first—”

Shirabu surged forward and claimed Semi’s lips with his own.

Semi breathed heavily against his mouth for a second, eyes widening. Shirabu hesitated, wondering if he’d finally gone too far—he was going to kill Tendou for this—but after a moment, Semi’s eyes slid shut and he kissed him back, slow and languid. Their mouths moved together as though they were lovers, like he was giving him all the time in the world, with the grace of someone who had thought about kissing the other before. Shirabu broke away to catch his breath, cheeks rosy, but Semi looked just as shaken up as he did, his face just as flushed, lips swollen.

Shirabu thought to roll off of him. The two of them sat next to each other in silence, breathing hard, tilting their heads up to the ceiling. The only sound in the entire gymnasium was their panting.

“So,” Semi said at last.

“So,” he echoed.

“Was that supposed to be a confession?”

Shirabu turned to him and glared as hard as he could. “What do you want it to be?” he snapped, and if Semi later informed him on their walk back to the dorms that Shirabu had been even more nervous than he was, Shirabu would swear up and down that it wasn’t true.

“If you want me to take you on a date, that’ll have to wait,” Semi told him. “I don’t have any money right now, and I don’t want to make this one bad.”

“Is that a yes or a no?”

Semi looked over at him, wearing one of his genuine smiles. He laughed, and Shirabu’s heart stuttered in his chest. “Kenjirou, you’re so stupid,” he chuckled, reaching over to ruffle his bangs. Shirabu sunk into himself, scowling. “I said I would take you out.”

“Oh.” And then, “I thought you didn’t have a good track record with dates.”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s just because you kept crashing them uninvited.” Semi got to his feet, tugging Shirabu up with him. “Do you want to practice your serve or not?”

Shirabu couldn’t stop himself from rubbing it in. “I was asking you out before,” he said. “I didn’t  _ actually _ want to practice my serve.” Then, reveling in the astonished expression on his senpai’s face, he finally allowed himself a tiny smirk. “You’re as dense as a volleyball, you know that?”

“Well, at least I wasn’t being an asshole to my crush,” he retorted.

“Shut up, I was never an asshole to you!”

Semi laughed again, like the universe colliding together at once. “Sorry, I meant a  _ jealous  _ asshole. My bad.” Shirabu opened his mouth to retort, but then Semi grinned at him with the most pleased expression he’d ever seen, and it was so disgustingly fond and warm that Shirabu couldn’t help himself from grabbing Semi’s collar and yanking him down for another kiss. It was just like touching the sun itself.

Rescue him, he recalled. Perhaps it was the other way around.


End file.
